


I Can't Unbreak You

by lokisfulltimebitch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Basically them coping with what happend in 1x04, Bellamy Feels Guilty, Broken Murphy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maybe smut later If I feel bold, Murphy stays at camp, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26226034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokisfulltimebitch/pseuds/lokisfulltimebitch
Summary: Bellamy realizes just how BROKEN Murphy really is.. and the worst part? He did this to him.ORIn which Murphy is left alone to suffer the injustice in being wrongfully hanged for Charlotte's crime. Until Bellamy discovers the true extent of the boys trauma. Angst, guilt, and eventual fluff ensues.. This is basically the rehabilitation of a fractured soul, and the eventual regaining of trust, for the very man who broke Murphy in the first place.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	I Can't Unbreak You

**Author's Note:**

> For clarification, Murphy is obviously not banished from camp, and the manhunt for Charlotte does not occur. Instead, he crawls back to his tent to nurture his wounds, pain and sorrow overcoming any form of initial rage.

Almost a week after Murphy was beaten and hung, the boy is still left reeling in shock and anguish from that day. His neck where the rope fastened around, effectively choking him near death, still stung horribly every time he adjusted his head from off his makeshift pillow. His stomach and arms remained a maze of black and blue bruises and small cuts. Worse than any physical pain, he endured endless cycles of vivid flashbacks, nightmares that threatened to wrench him from sleep every night, and merciless panic attacks arriving when the boy least expected it. All symptoms he attributed to PTSD.

He has barely left his tent since the hanging except for when he would sneak out late at night to relieve himself, under the sole gaze of the moon, where he also forced himself to grab a few leftover bites of food where he could find it. Although he was able to find a leftover piece of roasted boar early on, its been three days since Murphy has eaten a decent meal. Starting to feel the effects of malnutrition, he knows he only has one choice: attend the daily dinner gathering with the camp.

Murphy waits until he hears the shouting and laughter of the camp die down and begins to unzip the tent, hoping that the majority of the delinquents will be done eating and off frolicking in the woods or partaking in some weird teenage shit, enjoying what he would have just a week ago. His hands shake slightly when he opens the flap, both from pure terror and lack of food. The light of the campfire is easy to spot, along with the smell of burning meat, and he stumbles towards it weakly. 

Lucky for him, only a few people are left finishing up near the fire, most spread out carelessly on various logs and seating arrangements chatting with friends, some opting to lay alone on the dry grass instead. Murphy nervously approaches the server with his head down, anticipation swelling up inside him, threatening to ruin his seemingly calm facade. Everything runs smoothly, a boy with ruffled blonde hair hands him a plate of fresh deer and water, not even bothering to look up and notice Murphy's identity. Murphy lets out a relieved breath and scrambles back the way to his tent.

Halfway to his destination however, he hears a deep familiar voice discussing some sort of future hunting plans with an unknown figure. Murphy's heart stops and he freezes right in his tracks, hands falling to his side, thoughtlessly dropping the hard-earned meal he was holding, when he recognized the annoyingly-confident voice. Bellamy Blake. 

FUCK, it’s him. 

Bellamy's conversation was wrapping up, he would be heading back to base after, meaning he would undoubtedly be taking the very path Murphy’s standing smack in the middle of. Murphy wants to run, to scream, to pull out a fucking knife to his throat, but his body denies him of any movement. He needs to do something, but he’s frozen in raw terror. He imagines the Bellamy that stalks him in his dreams. The familiar (but never welcome) bloodthirsty eyes, the cruel smirk plastered on the older males freckled face, the way his leg kicks out the box beneath Murphy, and the way Murphy's eyes drift slowly closed, never to open again.

His eyes are now glazed over in shock, feet rooted to the ground, when he hears distant footsteps approaching him in strides, not really processing the sound.

Seconds later, he’s thrust back into reality by Bellamy himself, Murphy is squeezing his eyes tightly shut but he can hear echos of the older man yelling his name. The real Bellamy. The Bellamy that still tried to murder him a week ago, the boy who used to be his friend. The boy that he actually liked, who he genuinely enjoyed spending time together with, the one that he trusted. The only one he trusted. 

He loathed Bellamy at first, he yearned for revenge, he wished him dead, mutated, tortured, hung, anything to satisfy his resentment and restore his cracked dignity. However, the fire he felt originally inside his chest was quickly replaced with a deep layering of solid fear. He no longer wanted to reach out and punch Bellamy's face in until his hands were soaked in crimson blood, he just didn’t want Bellamy to hurt him, like he does in the nightmares and the flashbacks and the visions, like he’ll always do.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Murphy says in a half whimper, half squeak, not quite sure of Bellamy's intentions yet. Murphy would normally be mortified to expose such weakness and fragility, but Murphy is far from normal. He feels as if he’s only the shell of the boy he used to be. He opens his eyes wide for the first time and sees a bewildered Bellamy, mouth gaping and a look of concern on his face. Murphy wonders why, all things considered. 

“Murphy... What’s happening? Are you-,” Bellamy stammers. 

He then reaches out with both hands to gently grasp Murphy on either side, trying to meet eye contact for a better understanding of the boys needs. 

The second he touches the younger boy, Murphy panics. He loses control, flashbacks of the hanging and Bellamy's role coming back in split-second frames, his entire body starting to tremble aggressively in Bellamy's now-firm grip. 

His breathing feels heavy and his lungs are struggling to keep up, Murphy knows his feeble body won’t be able to hold out much longer. The brutal images in his head seemed so real and graphic, involuntary tears streamed down Murphy's face in bold lines. Bellamy resorts to desperately shaking him, trying to snap him out of the attack, but it only causes Murphy to jerk his head up suddenly, looking at Bellamy with a set of wide helpless eyes before collapsing into his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to writing fics, so constructive criticism and feedback are more than welcome in the comments.  
> If not, please leave a Kudo!
> 
> I'm not sure that this fic will reach anyone, regardless I will be updating swiftly.


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